Sunny Side
by Old English Game
Summary: Wilson lost a patient. And he walks, and he thinks, and he makes a friend hiding behind the officers' mess. Based off of S2E4 "Operation Briefcase", and introduces a new character.


Wilson strode out of Barracks 8 quickly, unsure quite where he was headed but knowing that he had to _go _somewhere.

He tried. He really tried. He knew that. Hogan knew that. Everybody knew that, except for the guy that died. Wilson hadn't seen such a twisted piece of metal wrenched so maliciously into someone's stomach before. The amount of blood - the blood was the only way Wilson knew there was a snatch of life left, because the blood was still flowing. The tangy scent of the smelling salts still stung his nose. What reviving him would have done, he didn't know, but it was something. Maybe enough time for a prayer. Probably not.

The sun was warm. Too warm, Wilson thought, for such a bitter day. You mean bitter mood, his mother would have said. It's only a bad day if you make it a bad day.

No, Mom, Wilson sighed, today it's a bad day. And the sun shines on bad days too, it seems.

As much as he didn't want it too, the sun gently relieved the ache in his shoulders from sitting up the past night tense, cup of coffee clutched tightly in his hand even after the rest of the men cut him off, staring at nothing in particular and thinking about everything from here to home and back again. Now his mind travelled the same way as he walked, from before the war to his nephew's letters begging for advice about this girl (because Lord knows his sister's in-laws were never blessed in love), to Dad taking him fishing and that one time he'd caught a fish that had to be at least a foot and a half, and he wondered if his wife was doing okay and how her bunko group was getting along with this knew bit of gossip about their former neighbor -

"Oh!" Suddenly his boot caught on something and he went flying.

"Shoot - sorry - are you okay?" He picked himself up and turned around, at the same time noticing that he'd ended up all the way behind the officers' mess.

The skinny leg that he'd tripped over belonged to the corporal squinting up at him against the sun, a scrawny blond kid with a chicken bone hanging limply from the side of his mouth. "S'rry," He said around the bone.

"Yeah," Wilson brushed himself off, "I'm fine." He looked at the small pocket-sized book in his hand, "What book is that?"

"Moby Dick," He frowned at it, "It's kind of boring right now."

"What chapter are you on?" Wilson leaned against the wooden wall and tried to dredge up his high school English from the cobwebby parts of his head.

"15. But they're short chapters." The corporal looked up at him, "You're Sergeant Wilson, aren't you?"

"Yeah,"

"I heard about last night. I'm sorry about that."

Wilson smiled wryly, "Thanks. And you're -," He frowned at the kid, "Loewe. That's right, you're the German kid," Not a very nice sentiment, but that was all he recalled about him - that and he made pretty good coffee , "Oh, you're in 8, too. Sorry, I should've known."

Loewe shrugged, "It's okay. I stay pretty quiet anyways. That's how I get to hide back here, none of the officers ever see me and nobody misses me anyways."

"Oh. You like it back here, then?"

"It's pretty good," Loewe grinned, "Especially at this time of day, because the sun shines right in here and kind of sits for a while. It gets warm."

"Yeah," Wilson looked around. The alley was mostly shadowed, except for the strip of bright light that Loewe was tucked in. "It's odd, though."

Loewe looked up again, "That it's such a nice day when a man just died last night?"

Wilson smiled a little, surprised, "However did you know?"

Loewe shrugged a little, "It doesn't seem right."

"I guess I can't go asking it to go away just for me, though," Wilson looked up, "Just for the war."

"I've tried," Loewe said with a sad smile, "It doesn't go away. Maybe you just gotta think that it's there to warm you up when you need it."

"You think I need it?" Wilson watched the strip of light creep towards his toes, wondering at the kid's odd matter-of-fact consideration.

Loewe shrugged, his oversized tanker jacket bunching up around his shoulders, "Maybe. Do you feel a little better?"

It was odd, Wilson realized. He did, "I guess you're right." He slid down the wall to sit next to Loewe. "What'd you do in civilian life?" He asked.

"I got right out of high school and joined the army," He said, "But I want to be a psychologist. Too many people are all messed up."

"That's a good reason," Wilson smiled, "I was a doctor, although I guess that's fairly obvious. Not quite a doctor, really, I was drafted before I could finish college."

"That's too bad. You gonna go back?"

Wilson considered this, "I guess. I suppose people need it."

"That's good," Loewe grinned, "My dad was a doctor. He was in France during the Great War." His expression darkened then, "That's why I want to be a psychologist. He didn't really," He shrugged, "He wasn't right since."

"I'm sorry," Wilson said.

"Thanks."

The sun was warmer still, and they sat for a while, and it was quiet except for the muffled conversations inside the officers' mess.

"This is a nice hidey, hole, you know." Wilson said finally.

"Yeah? You can use it, too, if you want. I guess I don't really have to give you permission, since it's not mine anyways, but - you know."

"I know. Thanks."

_Author's Note: Hopefully, Loewe will make in appearance in later fics. This is supposed to be a kickoff to get me going and introduce the character. Hope you enjoyed it!_

_Author's Note 2: Thanks for the reviews, guys. Props to Abrecadebra for letting me know about the formatting. I think I fixed it. Hopefully._


End file.
